An Unlikely Pair
by Anne Camp aka Obi-quiet
Summary: It was supposed to be a simple spell, not one that threw him out of time and half-way around the world to meet the most unlikely person possible. But then, that's his life for you.


It really wasn't his fault this time.

Alright, maybe a little, but if asked, he wouldn't admit it.

As usual, the thought didn't bring much comfort to him as he fought to quite literally hold himself together. The pure power of the magic he'd tapped into continued to bombard him, threatening to tear into his very being. He grit his teeth (or at least he thought he did—he wasn't quite sure he _had_ teeth at this point) and poured all of his concentration into weathering what he could only describe as a magical blizzard.

The spell at the heart of his current predicament came from a new book he'd discovered in the hidden room in the castle archives. The explanation had claimed that the spell would show him the extent of his power, which was something he'd found quite appealing. The druids called him 'Emrys' and said he was supposed to fulfill dozens of prophecies. Gaius said he was a question that had never been proposed before (although he didn't truly believe that after Morgana had shown inborn, magical power as well) and he'd lost count of the times some random sorcerer they'd run into had gone off on some tirade about his supposed power. He liked the idea of discovering his limits; to know just how far he could go if he had to.

Now he'd begun to understand just why those sorcerers he met seemed to either avoid him like the plague or somehow be in awe of him. Although he'd been born with magic, in the back of his mind somewhere, he still thought of himself as a nobody; a servant or peasant with a few gifts and nothing more. But if this magic that now raced around and through him, enveloping his whole being…if this was _his_ magic, he wasn't even sure he _had_ limits.

And that scared him. Deeply.

 _Focus,_ he told himself. He had to stop the spell. It was too much for his body. He could feel it slipping away—his connection to the real world. Quickly, he ran through every reversing spell he knew and yelled them aloud (at least he thought—hoped—he yelled them aloud). It didn't help. He still felt as if he were being carried away on an ocean, drowning in a way that had nothing to do with breathing.

Desperately he reached back to the real world, mentally stretching as far as he could go…

 _SNAP!_

In an instant, instead of simply being caught up in the maelstrom, he was quite literally tossed into the heart of it. His consciousness felt as if hundreds of separate forces drew him in as many directions, all while he swirled, whirled, and tumbled end over end. Confusion set in along with the constant changes and as a reaction, he threw his magic out on instinct to steady himself.

That was when the noticed the other presences. Outside of the swirling storm he'd been caught in, he could sense separate magical signatures; some weak, some strong, all subtly different. Some radiated power as he did, many of them wild and untamed. Others felt particularly unique and flexible while still others gave off an air of control. They all seemed to be firmly rooted or fixed in place, but as soon as he could acknowledge their presence, they passed out of his—for lack of a better term—sensing range. His position changed so drastically and quickly that he could not grasp more than a basic feel for them; like a ship tossed on the waves in a storm, barely glimpsing islands in the distance. He couldn't say he much cared for the image that particular thought conjured and for a moment, was glad he couldn't feel his body as he was sure he'd be utterly motion sick.

The presences passed by in spurts and glances; strong but brief—as if he were hurtling past them at speeds that exceeded a horse at full gallop. It took him a few moments of forcing himself concentrate on these presences to understand; they were other mages—sorcerers and warlocks. And wouldn't it only make sense (or maybe it was just a desperate hope of his) that they would be grounded in the physical plain? Is that why they seemed so firmly set in place while he hurled by them? Only one way to find out.

He grasped at the next one he passed by—not physically (as he still wasn't sure he had arms) but mentally; clinging for dear life as he imagined himself being pulled towards that presence. Confusion, irritation and only the slightest touch of icy fear drifted to him from the sorcerer as he continued to hold fast. This presence seemed to have a great deal of control despite the apparent weakness when it came to the extent of his powers. Merlin didn't particularly care one way or the other, he just noticed the observation in passing. All he really cared about was that he felt as if he had a lifeline again and he refused to let go. Whoever this man was (and Merlin didn't even want to know how he knew the presence was male), he would act as the young warlock's root to reality. Or so he hoped.

To his great relief, the world began to fade in around him. Then, relief changed to horror as he found it was a land unlike any he'd seen before…and seemed to be in the middle of a war.

xXx

Himura Kenshin had been on guard detail for a little over three months when the battle started. In this rebellion, skirmishes tended to occur more often than battles: Ambushes; traps; one-on-one fights. He'd been apart of dozens (if not hundreds) of such occurrences. To his not inconsiderable experience, the current conflict seemed like it should be different, and yet the same blood was being spilled. No matter the scale, it really wasn't different at all.

The fighting raged around him, but he couldn't stop himself from taking a moment for reflection as he flicked the blood of yet another Shogunte supporter off of his blade. It had been three months since he'd officially taken his new post and five since he'd come back; since he'd returned at Katsura-san's request and had supposedly given up his title as Hitokiri Battosai.

Eight months since her death.

And he still had to kill.

Realistically he knew it would take much longer than a few measly months to end the conflict, especially if the Imperialists were to succeed.

He still hated it.

He hated that they had to fight. He hated that he could not see any other conceivable way to change the country. He hated the fact that every time he cut someone down he saw _her_ face, and he hated himself for being so weak. She'd died because he hadn't been strong enough, and while he knew that he could not very well shoulder all of Japan's problems himself, he still felt somewhere in his heart that the war continued because he wasn't strong enough to end it.

With a shake of his head, he threw his ki senses out again, searching for other presences. The battle hadn't finished yet, and despite how much he loathed the very idea of lifting his sword again, he knew he couldn't stop or everything he'd fought for would be for naught. He could not stomach the idea of selling his soul—becoming a demon—for nothing.

He hated the idea of her death becoming meaningless even more.

So he fought, protected and killed, only barely able to cling to the hope that he would not have to do so in the future.

Stepping over the body of the nameless samurai that had been unfortunate enough to meet him, he shot one last look around the clearing—more to overlook his handiwork (as he refused to forget this; he didn't deserve to) than to confirm that the area around him no longer held any living soul.

That's when he felt it; like someone had reached out and grabbed his very spirit. Eyes widening, he leaned on his first instinct and took cover near the base of a tree, ignoring the cold, dirty slush that had become the forest floor. He wasn't sure exactly what had happened, but he knew something—someone was coming. Except, he also knew that that someone didn't exist?

He couldn't explain it, as the concept made no sense. The ki he felt was different than anything he'd experienced before, but strong; overpoweringly so. He gasped and clutched at his chest and head, despite the fact that he still held his sword in his hand. The feeling didn't cause him pain, but he found he couldn't concentrate on anything else either. In the back of his mind, he hoped that someone didn't stumble across him while he was incapacitated like this. It would be the end of him.

The presence seemed desperate and frightened, but horribly determined. The sheer will he felt from the man (and how did he know he was a man?) surprised him almost as much as the sudden appearance of the presence had.

Slowly, the man became…real. That was the closest concept Kenshin could think of to even remotely describe the sensation. He looked up and across the clearing, somehow knowing this person would appear there.

A vague outline of a figure began to fade into existence, as if his very essence bled from imagination to reality.

"Yokai," Kenshin breathed. He'd heard of strange stories of ghosts and demons before (after all, who in Japan hadn't?), but he'd never believed them himself. Perhaps they'd disturbed the spirit of the forest? Or had they run afoul of the grave of a vengeful spirit? Then again, the transparent figure had legs. Ghosts didn't have legs…did they?

Apparently this one did, because the moment his figure became solid enough that he was no longer transparent, said appendages collapsed.

xXx

Snow and ice hung in the air, contrasting greatly with the smell of the burning of various substances that accompanied the cold wind. Strange trees that he didn't recognize grew around him, all stripped bare of their leaves in the winter atmosphere.

The worst parts about the whole evening scene were the miniature explosions he heard; noises louder than he ever thought possible accompanied by clangs of sword-fighting and voices yelling at each other in the distance.

As he finally became solid again, his knees decided to give out on him and he ended up in the dirty snow, dazed, confused and utterly drained.

He'd exited the maelstrom only to find himself in a clearing comprised of a mix of mud, snow and blood. Footprints had churned up the mess to leave stagnant pools of gray-brown slush where the snow hadn't quite melted after being disturbed. A great number of people had come violently through here recently. The sight of at least three lifeless bodies caused his already queasy stomach (it seemed he had gotten motion sick after all) to churn painfully. Thankfully, he could not see a living soul.

Then, just the barest hint of movement caused him to glance up. Across from him, on the other side of the small clearing, he saw a figure in the shadows. A boy crouched low in the dirty snow, staring at him as if he were some sort of ghost. He couldn't have been older than 13 or 14 judging from what Merlin could see of his stature, and he looked as if he hailed from the east…the _far_ east.

His almond-shaped eyes slanted just slightly upwards and had a strikingly blue color that Merlin was surprised he could see in the dim, evening light. Those eyes narrowed suspiciously as they returned the warlock's gaze from behind a mass of dark hair that had a distinctively red touch to it. He'd never seen an easterner with red hair and blue eyes before. Not that he'd seen many easterners to begin with, but still.

They stared at each other for several seconds before the other seemed to snap out of a trance of some sort. Then, as Merlin watched, the blue in the boy's eyes melted into harsh amber.

Merlin gasped. This boy was the sorcerer!

Ignoring the cold, Merlin stumbled to his feet, refusing to take his eyes off of the boy. It didn't help. As he watched, the red-haired figure vanished. With a small yelp of dismay, Merlin swept his gaze over the clearing. The boy hadn't run; no he was still there, somewhere.

And he was coming for him. Somehow, Merlin knew he'd just become a target. He could feel it in the magic around him. It screamed 'danger' so loudly, he could almost hear it. So instinctively, he acted.

Slowing time had always been a specialty of his. He didn't need to shout out an incantation, or use a potion to do so. He didn't even need a special setting or alter, like the Isle of the Blessed that rested on the verge of worlds. He didn't know how he could do it, he only knew he could; and he did so then. If he had been a fraction of a second later, he wouldn't have been able to dodge the sword coming directly at him.

Either the other sorcerer could slow down time as well, or he could move at mind-boggling speeds, because even after slowing time, Merlin could barely dodge the other's swings. Surprised and panicked, he desperately tried to stay ahead of the strange style, for once, thanking Arthur's target practice. He couldn't dodge them all, though, and one thrust finally nicked his shoulder, cutting through the sleeve on his jacket and slicing the skin underneath.

He bit back a yell of pain, but refused to take his eyes off of his opponent. He knew doing so would be the end of him. The boy's face held no expression even as he continued to thrust and slash in short, precise swings. It almost seemed as if Merlin were looking at a mask instead of actual flesh. Only those golden eyes betrayed surprise and frustration.

"Don't!" Merlin yelped, finally gaining his senses again as he held up his hand, calling forth a shield. He felt the familiar warmth of magic build behind his eyes before the shield appeared, stopping the boy's sword.

This time he showed a reaction, eyes growing wide with shock and just a touch of fear. The expression changed to something more calculating as he jumped back, the strange sword already back in the sheath hanging at his side. Somehow, that didn't reassure Merlin. Unable to hold on any longer, he let go of time, allowing it to speed up again as he tried to ignore the strain it put on his already weakened body.

They faced each other for several seconds before the other finally broke the relative quiet. "Who are you?" the boy spoke, his tenor voice harsh with warning. "And what is a foreigner with such skill doing here?"

Merlin blinked and shook his head. The boy hadn't spoken a single word that he'd ever heard before, but he still understood. The language sounded strange and disjointed, and the other's tone held more than a little animosity. The words he heard didn't seem to match the movements of the other's mouth either, but if that were so, how could he understand? Was it his magic? That had to be it, he concluded warily.

"I was about to ask you the same thing," Merlin returned, confusion and anger overriding his sense of preservation. "Where am I and who are you?"

The boy's gaze darkened slightly. "Himura Kenshin of the Isshin Shishi."

He caught the significance of that somehow, although the actual words still meant nothing to him. The boy had said his name was Himura Kenshin, but he somehow knew that 'Kenshin' was his personal name, and 'Himura' his surname. He also knew that the phrase 'Isshin Shishi' had a great deal of danger attached to it. Needless to say, this did nothing to calm Merlin's nerves.

Still, the boy had answered (almost as if he'd felt required to do so), so the warlock returned the favor. "Merlin of Camelot," he said.

Apparently the other caught some significance as well, although it seemed to be just as vague as Merlin's own observations had been judging from Kenshin's reaction.

"How is it that I can understand you when you speak a foreign tongue?" the boy asked.

Merlin shook his head and held his hands up to say he had no clue. The movement reminded him that he had a rather large cut on his arm and he brought the other hand over to cover it with a wince.

The red-head didn't react at all, simply continuing to stand in the cold easily, as if nothing affected him. "Why are you here?"

"I don't know," Merlin replied, not bothering to keep the annoyance out of his voice. "I don't even know where 'here' is."

Kenshin's eyes narrowed even more, making him seem suspicious and wary but contemplative at the same time. "Yamashiro prefecture just outside of Kyoto."

How was it that Merlin could catch so much from the other boy's words? Yamashiro (and he doubted he'd ever really be able to say that aloud) meant an area akin to a kingdom, like but unlike Camelot. Kyoto was the royal capital city of not just Yamashiro, but all of the kingdoms in the area.

He didn't understand. The concept and ideas seemed so foreign to him. He struggled to grasp them with only marginal success.

Still, that didn't help him figure out where he was. "Yam-ah-shee-ro?" he asked. "Where in Albion is that?"

"Arubion?" Merlin raised an eyebrow as the man tried to pronounce the unfamiliar word. "No, Nippon-koku."

The warlock couldn't help but cock his head in confusion. "Nip-on co-wha?" He couldn't pronounce it, but he got the idea that from sea to sea, that was the name of the entire land mass.

Which meant he wasn't anywhere near Albion or Camelot. Then where was he? Somewhere in the East?

The suspicion never quite left the red-head's face, but the boy did seem to relax a little; as in he went from 'going to attack' to 'will attack if provoked'. "You truly do not know. I do not know how that can be, nor do I understand what has happened, but I see you do not either. Are you here in support the Shogunte?"

That was a loaded question if Merlin ever heard one. He wasn't quite sure how, but he could tell his answer meant life or death to the swordsman.

"Show gah…huh?" Yes, he was sounding more and more sophisticated as the conversation continued. One would think that he would have learned how to sound confident and arrogant after his service to the crown prince and subsequent King of Camelot for almost a decade.

"Surely you cannot support the Isshin Shishi?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Merlin returned.

Kenshin's expression grew confused again. "I know you speak the truth. How do I know this?"

Merlin repressed a sigh. He was getting tired of saying he didn't know. He was getting tired of not knowing. Kenshin must have read his expression. "Is it the same for you?"

The dark-haired boy blinked and nodded. "I understand what you mean…and I shouldn't. Not just what you're saying, but…" he faded off, unsure of how to phrase his train of thought. "I think it's our magic."

"Majiku? Myougi?"

The second word meant excellent or exquisite skill. He wasn't sure how he knew that (just like everything else, apparently). It took a moment for Merlin to realize that Kenshin didn't understand the concept of magic. Which made no sense. His eyes had faded back to blue during their conversation, but Merlin had seen the gold. Kenshin knew magic, so how could he not _know_ magic?

Great, now he was confusing himself. Perhaps an example would help clarify? Merlin looked around them again, only to once again realize exactly where they were. The subject wasn't exactly the safest conversation to have in public…or in the middle of a battle.

"Uh, I can explain later," he muttered. "First, can you tell me what's going on?"

Kenshin raised an eyebrow minutely, and his eyes shot around the clearing. "We had to stop the reinforcements and supplies."

'We' meaning the group Kenshin was fighting for. Great. Merlin really had landed in the middle of a war, in a foreign kingdom that hadn't ever even heard of Albion, let alone Camelot.

"Look," he said, holding his free hand up placatingly. "I don't want to get involved in some war. I just want to get back to where I need to be…where I should be." After all, if he wasn't there to look after Arthur (especially with Morgana on the loose) the prat would be dead within the week. Scratch that, it wouldn't take a day. Well, maybe a day if Giaus could do something.

"You wish to go home," the boy said, his features suddenly softening.

Merlin nodded, relieved that his desire seemed to reach the cold boy. "Yes, home."

Kenshin watched him for a few more seconds before he shook his head. "I do not believe I can help with this. I have not heard of this 'Arubion' of which you speak."

The warlock couldn't help his heart sinking, even if he'd already come to that realization. Hearing it just made it more real. "Do you know of someone who might?"

"No one who is friendly to foreigners. You came at a dangerous time, Marrin-san." _Marrin?_ Merlin thought to himself. And the 'san' at the end seemed to connote a polite respect.

Either unaware of his thoughts or ignoring them, Kenshin continued. "I can believe you have exquisite skill to be here and alive. I have seen it myself, although I cannot say I understand how you accomplished what you did. Few have blocked my sword and as such I will acknowledge your skill." With that, the red-head bowed just slightly. Despite the fact that his eyes were closed, Merlin knew the boy was still alert and ready.

"However," the red-head went on. "I cannot abandon my comrades any longer. I do not expect you to join with me as no one should fight for a cause they know nothing of, so here we must part ways."

"Wait!" Merlin said, trying unsuccessfully to push the panic rising in his chest down. "You said you don't know anyone around here who wouldn't kill me on sight, right?" Kenshin cocked his head, face still expressionless, but Merlin took it as a 'yes'. "Then isn't there _somewhere_ I can go? _Anywhere?_ Just until I can be on my way?"

Kenshin shook his head. "You must depend on your own skill to get yourself home."

"B-but I don't even know which direction to go! I have to get back! There's someone I need to protect!"

That appeared to strike a chord with Kenshin and he hesitated. After a few moments, he finally spoke up.

"Very well, I will do what I can. Hide now as best you can and I will return."

"When?"

"Soon."

With that, the red-head took off into the trees, supposedly to return to his fight. Merlin just stared after him. "Oh great, I'll just stay here and freeze or starve to death in the middle of a forest of people who all want me dead for some reason that probably doesn't even have anything to do with me…for once." He said it aloud, but he didn't dare yell it for fear of being heard by someone else.

He also didn't like the idea of waiting in the wet, cold mud next to the corpses of several men.

Eying said corpses warily, he turned and walked into the trees, hoping he could find a decent hiding place and that the fight wouldn't return to this area.

xXx

Alright, this is something I've wanted to post for years, but haven't really found the time to work with. Actually, I still don't have time, but hopefully some will be opening up soon.

I don't expect this to be very popular, but I'm very proud of it and I really like where it's going, so yeah. Let me know what you think, please.


End file.
